


Convicted

by boneswrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Courtroom Drama, Crime, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Eventual Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Miscommunication, Murder Mystery, Smut, post 1x04
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2016-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneswrites/pseuds/boneswrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor Walsh and Oliver have crappy days following their falling out. However, it’s safe to say Oliver’s day beats Connor’s when: a) he has a crapload of paper work to do by the next morning, b) he gets into a punching fight with his rival, and c) when said rival is found murdered near midnight and Oliver has no solid alibi. When Oliver denies Connor’s help, will Connor be able to convince Annalise Keating to take Oliver’s case? The more important question, however, is Oliver innocent or guilty?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, hi! There's this little show that started and has been driving me mad and it's gold and incredible and yeah. I had a thing for Connor from the beginning and then Oliver came into the picture and my heart screamed OTP!!!! So after the events of 1x04, this idea popped into my head and I thought it would be interesting to see how such a plotline would pan out. I'm doing research for the law and courtrooms chapters to come so I hope I don't mess anything up! Anyway, here is my attempt at a Coliver fic and I hope you guys enjoy! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Connor stared at Oliver’s apartment door, unable to allow fresh oxygen into his lungs. He was paralyzed, eyes fixed on the number haunting his vision. His belongings hung loosely in his grip, they felt light too, as if everything in the world is being lifted from around him, leaving him all alone to drown in his misery. After what seemed like an eternity, Connor was finally able to tear his eyes away from the ghostly door and peak at the clothes in his arms. And then it sunk in.

            Oliver kicked him out. Oliver hates him. He doesn’t blame him.

            Connor hates himself, too.

            The night didn’t exactly go like Connor had planned, not at all. Well, up to a certain point, it was. It was magical right up until Oliver pressed play on that recording play and heard what was on it. He never really thought Oliver cared about was on it because it meant nothing, absolutely nothing, to Connor himself. He wished to God he had burned that damned thing when he had the chance. All he needed from the recording was to find out who the betrayer was talking to and use it to prove that he’s guilty for buying a stock that would have destroyed his boss, which is Connor’s job. But Oliver didn’t quite see it that way, I mean, why would he? The simple fact is that Connor had slept with that employee to get that information. Thing is, Oliver didn’t care about that last part. For him, it was Connor sleeping with another man, as simple as that. When Connor heard the recording playing from the kitchen, his heart sank and his legs wobbled, threatening to give out on him. He could see and feel the hurt in Oliver’s eyes and in his trembling voice. Wanting to make it better but with poor choice of words, meaningless to say, Connor fucked it up. The next thing he knows, Oliver is violently pushing him out of his apartment and shutting the door in his face. And that’s the story of how Connor came to hating himself.

            “Fucking idiot.” Connor cursed at himself as he let the clothes drop on the ground. He pulling up his pants and put his feet in his shoes and then he pulled his shirt over his chest, the scent of Oliver invading his nostrils. He froze. He had no idea how in the hell his shirt smelled like Oliver. Then something clicked. But no, that’s impossible. Connor took the shirt off and looked at the size. Nope, it is possible. He was wearing Oliver’s shirt.

            They must have mixed their shirts together in the mess they created earlier and Connor really didn’t mind. Oliver was one size smaller than Connor, but the shirt felt fine. Even if it had been a bit tight, still, fine. Because it belongs to Oliver. After making himself half-representable, he took in a deep breath and turned his hand into a fist as it came closer and closer to the door. Abruptly stopping, Connor reconsidered. He wanted to see Oliver’s face one more time. But he decided the shirt was enough for now.

 The next morning was a disaster. Connor was hungover. He was late. He wasn’t having such a good start. The day would be a terrible one, he can feel it in his bones. He ran his fingers through his black thick hair as he walked into Annalise Keating’s workplace, noting all his fellow colleagues scattered around the library.

            “Long night?” Michaela Pratt teased.

            “Shut up.” Connor hissed.

            “What? Boyfriend trouble?” Asher Millstone pressed.

            “I said shut up!” Connor repeated angrily.

            “Cut it out, guys.” Laurel Castillo spoke up.

            Connor threw her a small nod. “Where’s Waitlist—I mean Wes?” He asked.

            “In there.” Laurel gestured to the defense attorney’s closed office door.

            “What do we have here?” Annalise Keating’s voice echoed, emerging from her office. “You’re late.”

            “I’m sorry, won’t happen again.” Connor promised.

            “You better step up your game and catch up, Mr. Walsh.” Keating said, walking passed the law student.

            “Yes, ma’am.” Connor nodded, following the group as they exited the house.

 

            Oliver’s day wasn’t turning out to be any better than Connor’s start. He stayed up all night, twisting and turning, unable to admit the fact that he couldn’t sleep without Connor next to him. No, correction. He can’t sleep knowing that Connor thinks he hates him, which in fact, Oliver’s feelings are the complete opposite. The truth is, Oliver knows guys like Connor, that type of guys. Good looking, charming as charming gets, and most of all, players. Hell, a guy that looks like Connor fucking Walsh can’t be possibly expected to stick with one guy, right? Except that Oliver prayed he would. Connor was clearly using Oliver to get Intel for his job, and for a while there, Oliver was all right with it. He couldn’t believe he caught the eye of someone like Connor Walsh and he enjoyed seeing him every now and then. But then is all changed. It all changed when Connor whispered in his ear, “ _I want this, too_.”

             Those four words triggered something within Oliver. They gave them the push to even dare to hope at some kind of relationship with Connor. The more Connor showed up, the stronger that hope became. The more they slept together, the clearer the sight became. Oliver’s feelings for Connor were shut within him, knowing that if there were any hint and they began to surface, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Connor doesn’t do feelings. He isn’t the type of guy that goes around talking and expressing his feelings, no. He’s too proud for that. Or something. Except he isn’t. Oliver didn’t exactly catch Connor’s statement about his feelings last night, he was too busy kicking the guy out to hear the words, “ _I like you, actually_ ” and then “ _don’t do this_ ”. He was blinded by anger and hurt, and now that he’s calmed down, he can hear those words are clear as bells in his mind. And maybe, the haunting of those words were the reason he couldn’t sleep at night.

             Oliver parked his car in the garage of the building where he worked, he looked at himself in the rearview mirror and concluded he doesn’t look as bad as he feels. He pushed the driver’s seat open and got out. He stepped into the elevator and stayed silent until the metal doors opened, Oliver walked into the I.T Department, maneuvered his way silently around the desks, finally reaching his own. He scanned his desk and found a new pile papers that weren’t there the day before, he groaned as he grabbed the note sitting on the very top.

 Oliver read, “LATE!!!! NEED THESE BY TOMORROW MORNING, STAT.”

 Yup, his day was going to be a crappy one. No—a _long_ , crappy one.

He took his laptop out of his bag and threw it on the ground, pulling out the chair and falling back into it. Sighing into his hands, he then ran his fingers through his hair. It’s going to be a long day. And just when he thought the morning can’t get any worse, he saw Tyler Logan making his way towards him from the corners of his eyes. He groaned inwardly.

“What’s up, Ollie?” Logan teased.

“I told you to stop calling me that.” Oliver grinned his teeth together.

“You did?” Logan pretended to try to recall. “Whatever, _Ollie_.”

Just as Oliver was about to attack the freakin’ guy, a warm hand settled on his shoulder. “Whoa, hold your horses, champ.”

Oliver sighed and turned to face sweet voice. “I shouldn’t let it get to me.”

“That’s right, you shouldn’t. Then why do you?”

“I didn’t really have an enjoyable night.” Oliver admitted.

“Oh no, and here I was, hoping for some spectacular story.”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Allie, I really am.”

“What happened?” Allie asked. Oliver stayed silent. “Oh, come on, I’m your best friend, you can tell me anything.” She reminded Oliver.

“I know, I know.” Oliver nodded. “I’ll tell you everything over lunch break.”

 

“Can you take care of that, Mr. Walsh?” Keating asked.

“Yes, I can.” Connor nodded.

“Good, have it on my desk by midnight.” Keating nodded.

“Good luck.” Michaela whispered, passing by Connor. Connor rolled his eyes.

He’ll get the evidence, he always does.

“What’s on your mind?” Laurel snuck up behind Connor.

“What?”

“You look shaken up, which is odd.” Laurel commented.

“Look, if I wanted a shrink, I would have gone to one.” Connor snapped. He squeezed his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, I am a little bit edgy, but I’ll be just fine.”

Laurel looked at Connor for a few moments before giving him a sympathetic nod and walked away.

 

Oliver was in the copy room when Logan approached him. Oliver sucked in a breath sharply and glued his lips together. _Don’t say a word_ , he reminded himself.

“Funny bumping into you again, Ollie.” Logan said with a smirk.

“Sure.” Oliver didn’t look at him.

“Ollie. Was that your nickname growing up?” Logan mucked.

“No, it was your mother’s.” Oliver faced Logan.

“What did you just say?” Logan was getting angry.

“You heard me.” Oliver’s face was stone hard. Next thing he knew, Logan’s fist was colliding with his face. Oliver stumbled back a few steps, clutching his face before returning the punch.

A few moments later, the sound of fist colliding with flesh echoed through the office. Knees were flown into ribs, and punches landing in stomachs. No one thought about breaking it up. Eventually, both men tired out and the fight died out. Panting, Oliver wiped his split lip, tasting blood in his mouth. He could feel the heat rising from his face, he guaranteed himself that he has at least a few bruises on his chest and stomach, not to mention the cuts and blue spots decorating his face. But he did a workup on Logan, too, who wore a slightly shocked mask. Oliver was tougher than he expected.

“If you ever touch me again,” Oliver took his breath, “I will kill you.”

Oliver walked over to his desk and picked up the paperwork he had to do. He decided he would finish them at home and return them tomorrow morning. He didn’t want to spend an extra second in this hellhole.

 

His phone rang on his way to his apartment. Caller ID: Allie

“Hey.” Oliver answered.

“What happened to you at lunch?” Allie asked.

“Uh, yeah, sorry, something came up.” He lied.

“You okay?” Allie asked with concern.

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Okay, but you owe me a story.” Allie reminded him.

“You’ll get it.” Oliver promised.

 

The janitor walked into the dark, abandoned office area. He checked his watch: 11:32pm. He walked around the desks, collecting the trash of the day. He was about to walk out until he noticed something sticking out of an office cubical.

No, nothing something. _Someone_.

He glanced around once again, with no one in sight, he slowly made his way towards the body. His eyes grew wide in shock.

_Tyler Logan._

_Tyler Logan with a pair of scissors sticking out of his neck._

_Tyler Logan has been murdered._


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver gets worked over. And Connor is in for a shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygod, thank you all so much for the incredible response for this story! The comments just made my day! I'm so happy y'all are excited for this story just as much as I am! And now is when the story actually begins! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

Oliver was able to grab a few hours of decent sleep before groggily getting out of bed, dragging his feet across the wooden floorboards, into the shower and get dressed. He was so exhausted he took a shower with freezing cold water, hoping it would magically make everything all right. Much to his dismay, it did not fulfill his hopes. His face was still sore from the fight of the previous day, his heart still ached over Connor, and the water was still numbingly cold. He grabbed the ton of paperwork he mysteriously went through and completely, that being the sole reason he went to sleep at three in the morning. Correction: not really the sole reason. He stuffed the papers in his workbag and grabbed his phone. Before slipping his cell phone into his pocket, he pressed the home button.

_One new text message_.

Oliver’s heart skipped a beat, the possibly of the text being from Connor suddenly made him feel whole again. But his world came crashing down just as fast as his hopes were built up.

Allie.

Not opening the text, he shoved his phone in his pocket and walked out the front door just in time to realize he forgot to make coffee. Cursing internally, he slammed the door and took the stairs. He really needed to go to boxing training to get rid of all this anger, it was the healthier option, taking into consideration the other option is to pin someone to the ground and beat the living hell out of them.

Oliver checked his watch; he wasn’t _that_ late, so he decided to grab a coffee from the nearest Starbucks before going into work.

“Morning, Emily.” Oliver greeted the barista.

“Hey, Oliver, the usual?” She smiled.

“Yes, please.”

A few minutes later, Oliver was handed his coffee.

“Coffee with a hint of vanilla, extra sugar.”

“Thank you.” Oliver grabbed his coffee.

“Have a good day.” Emily smiled.

Oliver approached the building, picking up his pace after noticing that the entire block was sealed off.

“I’m sorry, no one is allowed in.” A police officer stopped him.

“I work here.”

“Can I see some ID?” The officer asked.

Nodding, he showed his ID.

The officer studied it for a few moments before nodding. “Please, come with me.”

With much confusion, Oliver followed the officer with no further questions or comments. As soon as he entered the IT department, everyone’s eyes were on him. He can feel the heat rising in his face, his hands getting sweaty. People he work with were looking at him with disgust, fear and even disappointment, a few of them shaking their heads and some even scoffing violently. They came to a halt and Oliver looked around for anyone who would give him a damn explanation for what was going on. He felt like the air was stuck either in or out of his lungs as soon as his eyes met the yellow crime scene tape.

“What the hell is happening?” Oliver asked Allie when she approached him, worry in her eyes.

“Logan was killed last night. They found him this morning.” Allie said in a shaky voice.

“Tyler?” Oliver’s eyes went wide with shock.

“Yes, Tyler Logan.” A detective approached the duo. “I’m detective Jack Miller, mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Uhh, not at all.” Oliver nodded and followed the detective to one of the conference rooms.

As they were walking by, Oliver managed to get a glimpse at Logan’s body. His insides turned, he could hear the beating of his heart in his ears, getting faster and faster by the second. Logan’s body was lying limp as ever, blood all over the ground. Oliver has never seen that much blood in his life. The pooled crimson blood was dry and appeared to be sticky. Bile started to rise, Oliver had to swallow hard and breathe from his nose to keep it down. He walked into the conference room and immediately took hold of the table to keep himself balanced. The entire world was spinning.

“You alright?” Detective Miller asked.

“Y-Yes.” Oliver swallowed. “I just need a moment.” Oliver took several deep breaths, shutting his eyes tight. A few moments later, he straightened his back and faced the detective.

“Take a seat.” Detective Miller gestured to one of leather chairs as he took a seat on an identical one across from Oliver. Once Oliver was seated, the detective took out his slim notebook and looked at Oliver. “So, tell me, Oliver, did you get along with Logan?”

“I assume your hurry to get me in here, you already know the answer.” Oliver said.

“We did ask around, but now I’m asking you, getting your side of the story.” Detective Miller cleared.

“Yes, we didn’t get along. Most of the time, he started it. I’d tell him to quit it, sometimes I’d ignore him, but there’s just so much you can take.” Oliver answered. “He was the kind to go around firing bullets, expecting to get none in return. But I returned the bullets, someone no one around here was able to do. They were too busy kissing up to him.” Oliver answered.

“The fight?” Detective Miller pointed to Oliver’s face.

“Yes, the fight.”

“And what exactly happened?” Detective Miller asked.

“Well, I wasn’t having a good day and I told him to stop bullying me but he insisting on agitating me so I guess I started the fight. A few punches here and there and then it was over.” Oliver explained.

“And you did not threaten to kill him if he ever touched you again?” Detective Miller asked in a serious voice as leaned forward against the table, getting closer to Oliver.

“I…” Oliver began but then everything started to make sense. “Wait, you think I killed him?”

“Did you?”

“Wh-what? NO! I mean, we didn’t get along, we had issues, yes, but I didn’t kill him!” Oliver yelled defensively.

“The evidence says otherwise.” Detective Miller said simply.

“What evidence?”

“Where were you between eleven and at night and one in the morning yesterday?” The detective interrogated.

“Uhh, I was working at home, I had a lot of paperwork to catch up on.” Oliver answered truthfully.

“So this is not you, entering the building at eleven twenty?” The detective showed Oliver footage from the surveillance camera. “It shows you going in but not coming out. Why’s that?”

“My boss called me and told me there are a few more papers I needed to finish so I came back and grabbed them. And I went out from the back door, to answer your question.”

“Did you see anything suspicious while you were here, as you say?”

“No, I would have reported it.”

“Alright, I think I have everything I need for now. Thank you for your cooperation. Don’t skip town.” Detective Miller stood up.

“I won’t.” Oliver promised.

A few minutes after the detective walked out, Oliver stood up, his legs trembling as he made his way out of the conference room. He looked around, his breathing was slowing down, his eyesight blurry, everything playing in slow motion. He saw three Allies making his way towards him, her face out of focus. She seemed to be speaking to him but he couldn’t make out a single word.

“Oliver? Oliver! Hey, you with me?” Allie snapped her fingers in front of Oliver’s eyes to get his attention.

“Wh-What?” A disoriented Oliver looked around.

“What did he say to you in there?” Allie frowned her eyebrows.

“He—they think I did it, I killed him.” Oliver said in disbelief. Before Allie could reply, he sucked in a deep breath. “I need some air.” And then practically raced to the elevator. Once he reached street level, he bent down, hands on his knees, as he tried to regulate his breathing. He looked at his hands only to find them trembling. He should do something right about now. His phone was burning in his pocket and he knew what he had to do. But still, he didn’t pull out his phone.

A few minutes and a few blocks later, Oliver was finally able to bring the rate of his breathing down to one of a normal person. A normal person being someone who isn’t suspected of murder. Plenty of normal people around, except for him, of course. For some unknown reason, Oliver suspected he was being followed, a very much likely possibility, he concluded. He moved his neck in several directions, licking his dry lips to moisturize them while scanning for any face that seemed to be targeting their blazing eyesight towards him. After finding no one who followed said description, he felt himself calm down a little bit more. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone from his pocket, noticing his hands were still shaking, he decided to switch off his phone.

And he didn’t make the phone call.

Connor was sitting on the couch next to Laurel, looking through a list of names who are known to be sworn enemies of their client’s boss, trying to find anyone who could be a potential new suspect. After realizing he was reading the same name for the tenth time, he groaned and ran his hand through his once-perfect, currently messy thick, black hair.

“You alright?” Laurel asked with concern.

“Yeah, I’m just tired.” Connor rubbed his worn out eyes.

“You look like crap.” Michaela commented.

“Thanks for that.” Connor shot annoyingly.

“How’s the work coming along?” Frank popped into the living room, examining the law students.

“Slow.” Connor said under his breath.

“Well, pick up the pace.” Frank demanded.

Irritated by the paper in his hand, Connor placed it on the table in front of him and picked up the evidence folder, leaving the list for later. However, the change in material did nothing to stop Connor from gazing into space with only one thought conquering his mind.

An hour later, with no progress from any of the students, Connor grabbed his phone and checked for recent activity he might have missed.

“I lost count how many times you checked your phone in the past hour.” Michaela remarked.

Paying no attention to her, Connor got up and walked out of Keating’s office and stood in the middle of the front porch, running through his contacts until finding the name. With his wobbly hand, he touched the number and placed the phone on his ear, and waited impatiently. It went straight to voice message without ringing.

‘ _It’s Oliver, I’m not near my phone right now but leave a message and I’ll call you back, thanks_.’ Beep.

“Oliver, it’s me—its Connor and I keep thinking about what happened and it—it isn’t right, it doesn’t feel right and I know I messed up, I know I fucking messed up so bad, I know that and I’m having a pretty crappy time and the least I can do is…this and I’ve been waiting for you to call but I don’t know why you would, I’m the problem, I’m the one who fucked it up. Can we just talk? Oliver please, can—can you just call me back, please.”

With that, Connor ended the call and shoved his phone back in his pocket, not noticing the tears that were gathering in his eyes. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly before running his hand through his hair, an attempt to put it in some kind of order. He sniffed and blinked quickly, forcing the water to disappear before making his way back into the office, where he could hear the news channel blaring through the television speakers.

“Looks like you’re going to have to bail your boyfriend out soon, Walsh.” Asher teased as soon as Connor walked into the living room.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Connor glared at Asher.

“You don’t know?” Wes frowned.

“Know what?” Connor asked with confusion mixed with infuriation.

A familiar name caught the attention of Connor as he suddenly turned his face towards the television. Oliver’s workplace. A murder. The number one suspect? Oliver’s picture appeared on the right side of the screen.

“…not enough evidence was gathered to hold the employee in custody, but the authorities have good reason to believe this young man was responsible for the murder that occurred last night around midnight.” The reporter spoke.

Connor’s jaw was on the ground. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t moving. The water that disappeared from his eyes just moments ago were clouding his vision, making everything one hell of a haze. Everyone in the room was quietly observing Connor, just in case he was about to collapse, which were very good odds seeing how rapidly his face was losing color, getting paler and paler by each second. After what seemed like an eternity, oxygen was finally able to make its way into his burning lungs as he gasped before clutching his mouth with his unsteady hands. He must have misheard what that woman was saying, right? He had to be making things up in his mind and the reality is that Oliver is safe and isn’t suspected for murder and he’s going to call him back and they’ll be okay, right? He franticly looked at everyone in the room, begging for an answer, pleading for anyone to say that he was making it all up and he’s just tired and needs a good night’s sleep. But no one spoke.

“I—I—I have to go.” The words came out a whisper as he leaped forward, snatched his bag and raced to his car, fumbling for the keys on his way out. After finally unlocking the car, he got into the driver’s seat, turned on the ignition and accelerated to the one place he prayed Oliver would be.

Connor threw his car in front of Oliver’s apartment building and dashed into the building and up the stairs without bothering to lock his car. Even though he took three steps at once, it seemed like it took him forever to run up three floors and start banging on Oliver’s door. He was absolutely sure his knuckles would be bruised from the pace and force used to pound on the door. The sound of flesh striking wood echoed through the empty hallway.

“Oliver? Oliver!? Are you in there?! Let me in, please! Oliver!” Connor yelled and continued to pound and pound, getting tired and being forced to slow down. Connor rested his forehead against the wood, bruises already starting to form around his bloodied knuckles as he breathed heavily with one final attempt. “Oliver.”

It came out a wheeze.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor visits Oliver and gets an unexpected response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, hello! I haven't forgotten about this story, I was in a place where I was worried about writing it because I didn't know the characters very well. However, as I rewatched season one and now with the return of season two, I'm more confident in my characterization and I'm super excited to continue this story! This chapter is very short due to me wanting to say this but please bear with me. I'll do some extensive planning to get back on track and I'll be updating this story regularly now. It's good to be back! Feedback is always appreciated!

Exhaustion started to get the best of Connor, still unconsciously banging his knuckles against Oliver’s door as he whispered his name over and over and over again. Connor finally let his hand drop at his side as he slowly slid down the wall, and put his face in his hands, rocking back and forth. It felt like an eternity and Oliver never showed up. Connor feared he was too late, that Oliver was already gone. Tears started to blur his vision at the thought.

Hours passed up, and Connor remained unmoving against Oliver’s apartment door. His eyes were shut, but he wasn’t sleeping, he was too busy thinking about how much he fucked up this incredible thing he had with Oliver. It’s no secret he’s a player, but he didn’t remember the names of the guys he screwed, except for Oliver’s. And that was a huge thing in Connor land. All that was important for him was that _they_ remembered _his_ name.

Connor was never the wanting type, but the wanted. That is until he met Oliver and from then on, he couldn’t spend a moment away. And it scared the crap out of Connor, this feeling. He had no idea such a feeling existed. _Maybe_ , he thought, _maybe if I explain to Oliver he’ll take me back._ And then he shook his head. _No, you fucking idiot. Oliver is gone. You just wasted the best thing that has ever happened to you_ , he corrected.

Fifteen minutes later, Connor heard distant footsteps approaching on the stairs. Connor looked up and waited for the body to appear in front of him. The footsteps stopped and Connor’s eyes landed on the face.

Not Oliver.

The man looked at Connor for a few moments before proceeding up the stairs and God knows to which floor. But Connor didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

Connor was so lost in though or emptiness, he didn’t hear the second set of footsteps approach. Feeling a presence around him, he looked up, and his breath caught in his throat.

Oliver. Oliver is here.

Connor quickly scrambled to his feet, almost falling over, before gaining his balance and standing still in front of Oliver. Oliver remained quiet, scanning the law student, noting his once perfect messy hair, untidy clothes, and the red eyes with black bags decorating them, and then his eyes landed on the knuckles, the bloody knuckles. Finally, tearing his gaze from Connor, Oliver peaked at his white door, blood collected in one area and then small splatters along the way, down the door.

“How long have you been here?” Oliver finally spoke.

Connor shrugged. “I don’t know.” His voice was harsh and his tongue felt sandy.

“What are you doing here, Connor?” Oliver asked.

“I saw the news.”

“Yeah, and? Since when do you care?” Oliver threw.

Connor’s eyes widened. “Oh come on, you don’t mean that.”

“I don’t?” Oliver raised an eyebrow.

“Look, I might have screwed up and it’s all my fault, I know that, but don’t think for a second that I don’t care about you. And that’s why I’m here, I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t need your help.” Oliver tried to move past Connor but Connor stood in his way.

“Yes, you do, Oliver.” Connor spoke, his face so close to Oliver’s and all he wanted in that moment was so press his lips against Oliver’s and make everything all right.

“Why’s that?” Oliver whispered, not moving.

Connor tore his stare from Oliver’s lips to his eyes before speaking. “Because you shouldn’t go to jail for something you didn’t do.”

That’s when Oliver took a step backward, separating them as strange air rested between them. “And how do you know I didn’t do it?”

Connor felt cold. The blood in his veins turned into ice. His breathing slowed down. And when Oliver moved to open his apartment door, Connor didn’t stop him.

“Don’t do this.” Connor pleaded as Oliver stepped into his apartment. “Oliver, please—talk—”

The door was slammed in his face.

Connor ran his hand through his messy hair, lightly tugging on it. He knocked on the door again, hissing at the pain running through his nerves. “Hear me out, Oliver, please.”

Connor rested his forehead against the wooden door and didn’t move a muscle for five minutes. Sighing as he pulled back, he stared at the door for a few moments before lifting his feet and walking towards the staircase. Connor’s body wobbled, unbalanced, the first few steps, but eventually gained balance and managed to walk down the three flights without tripping over.

Oliver was sitting on the ground, his back and head rested against the front door as he heard Connor walk away. A tear escaped Oliver’s eye and ran down his cheek. He wasn’t bothered to wipe it away.

Oliver wonders if he just signed his entire life away.


End file.
